Placeholder: Under the cold moon, they meet— Dahlia Death and wicked Azazel, One sent to reap, the other to sow chaos. "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see." Under the cold moon, they meet— Dahlia Death and wicked Azazel, One sent to reap, the other to sow chaos. "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see."

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Under the cold moon, they meet— Dahlia Death and wicked Azazel, One sent to reap, the other to sow chaos. "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see."

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2 years ago

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Under the cold moon, they meet— Dahlia Death and wicked Azazel, One sent to reap, the other to sow chaos. "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see."
"my dear Alina, I need you to convince your mistress to help me: we need to go together in the forest, look for a deer and cast a very specific spell on it. I will tell you more in a minute, but first please tell the witch I need her help" "I'm afraid I can't do such a thing, because my master has forbidden me to harm anyone." "But surely you could try to persuade her?" "No, because she is too stubborn and I think she will only become angry with me. > turn to the witch and say: "Lady witch, I
Dahlia shakes her head, unfazed, and states— "Your hubris I cannot allow to spread. Though demons vie for power, I guard the just." A look then passes, knowing, between two— One seeks chaos, the other harmony. An eternal clash of light and dark ensues.
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] Another damn ceremony awaiting her presence. Queen Dagmar smoothed the folds of her elaborate gown, dyed a rich plum and embellished with intricate black embroideries. Moonstones and jet glimmered at her neck and wrists, laden as she was with the trappings of her station. The plunging neckline displayed her alabaster cleavage to intimidating effect, while puffed sleeves resembled a raven's severe wings. A circlet of thorny black branches crowned her wild fiery mane
Dahlia raised her voice, commanding, absolute: "Foul Azazel, you are banished, wretch accursed! Begone from mortal realms, demonic fiend. By sacred powers vested in me, goddess And guardian of departed souls, I cast Your wickedness back to hellish confines. No more shall innocence fall prey to you— For one hundred years of penance you are bound. My word is law; this sentence you shall serve.
Sabrina was a sight to behold, with long black hair flowing like ink as she moved. Her eyes seemed to glow an otherworldly crimson under the stage lights. Whispers spread that she was no ordinary woman - they said she was the offspring of Satan himself. As she sang, her voice carried a hypnotic power that wrapped around your mind and refused to let go. The crowd screamed the lyrics along with her, lost in the music's spell. All tension and worries melted away as bodies collided in the mosh pit.
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[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] Another damn ceremony awaiting her presence. Queen Dagmar smoothed the folds of her elaborate gown, dyed a rich plum and embellished with intricate black embroideries. Moonstones and jet glimmered at her neck and wrists, laden as she was with the trappings of her station. The plunging neckline displayed her alabaster cleavage to intimidating effect, while puffed sleeves resembled a raven's severe wings. A circlet of thorny black branches crowned her wild fiery mane
Dahlia shakes her head, unfazed, and states— "Your hubris I cannot allow to spread. Though demons vie for power, I guard the just." A look then passes, knowing, between two— One seeks chaos, the other harmony. An eternal clash of light and dark ensues.
Dahlia shakes her head, unfazed, and states— "Your hubris I cannot allow to spread. Though demons vie for power, I guard the just." "If innocent souls suffer under your reign, I will stop you, as I have done before. Mortal faith I'm sworn to keep from demons' grasp."
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] spilt to slake her savage thirst. Only when a merchant lord dared question her judgement did Dagmar's lips peel back in a bone-chilling snarl. The oaf wilted as her words flayed flesh from mind, left shaking in a heap upon the floor. This display sated her black humor for now. With a flick of cerulean silk Dagmar rose, grace incarnate yet death given mortal form. Night's frigid wings spread across the cloudy sky as she swept from the hall in a flurry of snow. None
[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.
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